


Snapshot of a Seamstress

by TeamGwenee



Series: Pretty Dress Prompts [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy fluff fluff fluff, Married Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth, Minor Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth, PA/Boss AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 15:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Modern imagining of Jaime sending Septa Donyse to make Brienne a dress.





	1. The P.A

“Please don’t put yourself through too much trouble,” Brienne mumbled, awkward and miserable as she stood in her greying bra and panties, arm akimbo.

With the cruel light of the studio glaring down upon her, Brienne’s skin only looked paler, the flush of her cheeks blotchier, and her freckles starker. The studio was bright and white, designs pinned on the wall. The dresses and gowns sketched with careful notes dotted around were gorgeous, and just looking at them left Brienne intimidated. Her eyes kept flickering towards a fuchsia dress with feathers on the shoulder, and another startling orange gown with a fitted dropped waist and full tulle skirt. She prayed Donyse didn’t put her in something like that, although knowing Jaime he would order something like that just to spite her.

“I really don’t need anything fancy, I’m only going as Mr Lannister’s PA,” Brienne stammered.

“Arms up,” Donyse said gently, her calm façade not betraying the internal eye-roll she was hiding within.

“And, you know, I’m not really worth dressing,” Brienne mumbled as Donyse wrapped her tape measure around Brienne’s painfully small bust, causing her flush to spread down to her chest. She fixed her eyes on the wall, frantically reading the notes on a mermaid tail cocktail dress.

Donyse mercifully stepped away to take her notes, returning with a bolt of midnight blue silk which she held against Brienne’s pale skin, before nodding in approval and draping it over Brienne’s bare shoulder, causing her to jump at the feel of the cool rich fabric brushing against her goose pimpled skin.

Donyse deftly went about pinning and tugging the fabric into place, as Brienne continued to mutter and mumble in an attempt to avoid looking at her reflection in the surrounding mirrors.

“And Jaime doesn’t care what I wear,” Brienne said, “He only sent me to you so I could go with him to the charity gala and whisper names of guests into his ear. I don’t think he will even notice what I have on.”

At this point Donyse could not but fail in holding back a snort.

“Make it blue,” Mr Lannister had said while placing the order. “She’ll look ridiculous no matter what, but just…make it blue. Her eyes are blue.”

Donyse was going to make Ms Tarth a dress that made her look fab, for the poor awkward girl swallowed up in swathes of blue silk, for the man footing the bill, and for herself in the hope of snatching a future wealthy patron.

She was going to pad out Brienne’s bra as well.


	2. The Socialites

Donyse had pictures from the Lannister Gala ball pinned onto her wall of pride.

Fashion blogs and news outlets had posted at length about the divine midnight blue gown she had crafted. The model in question looked nervous, but endearingly so, and the rapturous gaze of adoration Jaime Lannister shot her as she watched her feet totter in heels had sent the media into a tizzy.

Brienne Tarth, soon to be Brienne Lannister-Tarth, had made Donyse’s fortune, spring boarding the modest little seamstress into the limelight. And now with the long-awaited news of Brienne’s engagement to Jaime Lannister, she had orders coming in by the score.

One Margaery Tyrell among them.

The dazzling young socialite and ‘philanthropist’ stood nattering on her phones; one in each hand, as she stood brazen and bold in the middle of Donyse’s workshop.

“Of course I am delighted about the news. Brienne is a darling friend of mine,” she trilled down one line to the ‘Varys Tattler’,

“Just make a donation in their name to one of my charities,” she instructed her personal shopper on the other, “I barely know her and it’s not like Ms Tarth is going to want for anything in the future anyway.”

“Something classic and demure,” she told Donyse, scarcely drawing a breath. “I want to change my image up a bit into something more mature, but still youthful and alluring. Something that suggests wife, instead of screaming ‘girlfriend!’. There is going to be a lot of eligible Lannisters at this wedding and you have a reputation for being lucky.”

Donyse nodded and set to work with a fervour. One Lannister wedding she could take to the bank, another Lannister wedding would take her all the way to the Southern Isles. 

~

“Something eye catching!” Daenerys Targaryen instructed. “Fluid, with a lot of movement.”

Donyse nodded enthusiastically. Daenerys Targaryen was an enchantingly beautiful young woman, with bank account like a bottomless pit. Always in the search of apparel that could do justice to her perfectly crafted face, she was willing to dig deep into her pockets and landing her as a client for the ‘Lannistarth wedding ‘ (as the press had dubbed it) was quite a coup. Especially as she always seemed to go through her clothes with an alarming speed, for some reason.

“How about this?” Donyse suggested, flourishing a bolt of floating lilac chiffon with silver sheen that would look stunning with her purple eyes and platinum hair.

“It’s gorgeous,” Daenerys said enthusiastically. “Only,” she trailed off hesitantly “Is it fireproof?”

~

Cersei Baratheon was drunk all throughout her fitting.

“Make it black!” she screeched. “Black velvet with a veil. For the day that beast marries my brother is the day I mourn the death of my family and all it stands for!”

And then she fell over onto the floor and stayed there for the rest of the day.


	3. The Bridesmaids

Pretty young Sansa Stark, with her flaming locks and poised smile was nearly bouncing on her toes as she entered the studio, preening up to the jovial Mrs Lannister Frey. Arya Stark came in behind, being dragged and cajoled by her careworn and chagrined mother.

“Good morning Donyse,” Genna trilled, “Here are our two bridesmaids.”

“I understood there were three bridesmaids in total,” Donyse said as she lifted up piles of pink satin.

“Little Shireen could not make it. Her stepfather will be making an appointment later today. Now young ladies, come see Donyse’s beautiful designs.”

“Pink?” Arya hissed to her mother as Genna and Sansa cooed over the fabric.

“Please Arya,” Cat begged, “Don’t make a fuss. This is Brienne’s wedding.”

“Genna chose pink, Brienne wouldn’t care if I refused.”

“No, but the Lannisters will and they’re already giving her enough trouble over this wedding.”

“Whining again Arya?” Sansa asked with a smirk. “I can’t understand for one moment why Brienne would choose you as bridesmaid, not when your scowl is certain to ruin all the wedding photos.” She turned, beaming winningly up at Donyse. “I simply cannot wait to see my dress, Miss Donyse,” she declared.

Donyse smiled weakly back at her.

She didn’t have the heart to tell her pink looked awful on redheads.

~

Shireen was a small child, with protruding ears, a large scar and a shy smile of such sweetness that it would not have been incongruous accompanied with a halo. She clutched at her stepfather’s hand, peering in wonder at all the beautiful fabrics and intricate designs.

“And this is our last bridesmaid?” Donyse inquired kindly, holding out her hand to shake.

Shireen politely took Donyse’s hand, stepping out from behind Mr Seaworth’s trouser leg.

“Is Dad staying with us?” Donyse inquired.

“Yes please, Ms Donyse. He needs to facetime Daddy when I am ready so he can see the dress.”

Davos Seaworth was a gentle, sensitive soul and the tears that sprang to his eyes as Shireen twirled before him came as no surprise. Watching the notorious hard-liner Stannis Baratheon blub over the computer screen was another question entirely.

“Oh Shireen,” Davos sighed, “You are literally a princess.”

“Figuratively,” Stannis corrected with a sniff, dabbing at his eyes, “She is figuratively a princess!”


	4. The Bride

“I’m surprised you chose to accompany us today Cersei,” Genna noted as they lingered in the doorway to Donyse’s studio. “Considering your previous opinions on this wedding.”

"I do not recall what you are referring to."

"I believe the term 'end of the Lannister House and true civilisation' was used."

“If the Tarth woman is to join our family, I shall do my duty and see to it that she doesn’t bring disgrace upon this family.”

“For which we are all grateful,” the Tarth woman muttered.

“Ladies!” Donyse cried, having glugged down a glass of wine and hidden the rest in preparation of Mrs Baratheon’s arrival, “How wonderful to see you all here today. Ms Tarth, congratulations.”

She ushered them into her studio, the entire space overflowing with white tulle and champagne silk. Donyse had even laid out vases of white calla lilies to give a festive, bridal air in honour of the occasion.

“And how is our bride to be?” she asked.

Before Brienne could make her reply (“Fine, thank you”) Genna Lannister-Frey jumped in with a “Busy! She’s had an appointment with the florist and the caterer this morning, a dance class this afternoon and a practise run with the stylist this evening.”

“I see,” Donyse said with a quirk of an eyebrow. “And what sort of gown are we thinking of?”

“Something traditional,” Genna began.

“And that will hide those awful shoulders,” Cersei sneered.

“She is marrying in the Sept of Baelor, so she must have a train.”

“Nothing that will bring out her freckles, makeup can only hide so much.”

“It must not be too plain, but not too gaudy.”

“Myrish lace-”

“my brother is providing diamonds that he will wish to be stitched onto the skirt,”

“The skirt should be full-”

“-a sweetheart neckline,”

“-corset back,”

The design agree upon by the everyone but the bride would have seen Brienne swamped in layers of tulle and lace, a skirt large enough to fill the aisle (‘to balance out her gargantuan shoulders!’) and a waist fitted so tight as to cut off air flow (‘to give her some sort of figure’).

During the fitting, Brienne balanced on a pair of pinching white heels so that Donyse could get the measurements right. Genna and Cersei drank champagne and called out instructions and orders finished the champagne (mostly Cersei) and argued and cackled and opened another bottle of champagne (again, Cersei) as Brienne was slowly mummified under masses of tulle.

Now Donyse was a businesswoman. She had no compunctions as to throwing Brienne to the metaphorical lions. She was under no illusions as to who was signing her paycheque and it was the Lannisters she needed to please.

Nevertheless, it was clear Cersei Baratheon desired nothing more than sending her sister-in-law down the aisle looking like a blancmange, and Genna Lannister Frey seemed to consider doilies as the pinnacle of good taste, and if Donyse sent Brienne down the aisle in a gown of their choosing with her name attached, she could wave her fledgling career goodbye.

After a glass of wine (some had managed to survive Cersei Baratheon’s binge), Donyse put down the glass, picked up the phone, and called the one Lannister whose fashion sense she truly rated.

~

“Now,” Donyse began as Jaime Lannister and his future wife sat together on her plush white leather sofa, “What would you like?”

“I would like,” Brienne said with the world weariness of one who had been plunged into the abyss and spat out again, “To elope.”

Donyse quickly laughed that idea away before it could gain traction, before opening a sketchbook of preliminary designs.

“I understand that your dress will require a deal of formality, but from your tastes I gathered something simple, with clean lines and minimal fuss, would be preferred. Something like this.” Donyse pushed her sketchbook towards Brienne.

Brienne knew nothing of fashion, but the sketches before her contained no sign of a flounce or frill and for that alone they were a great improvement. She nodded in relief.

“And Mr Lannister,” Donyse said a she turned to face her benefactor, “Do you have any preferences?”

“I am happy with what Brienne wants,” Jaime said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Although I do have one condition, that isn’t negotiable.”

“And what is that?”

“It needs to be something that can be ripped off easily.”


End file.
